They Fade and Flicker
by Homicide-Inside
Summary: “You’re getting too old, you confess. But not that old yet. You know you have so much more to live for, and at the same time you feel as though you are losing so much.” Tweek's POV. Angsty with implied CrEek. Experimented with 2nd person POV again. Kplus.


**They Fade and Flicker**

**Summary:** "You're getting too old, you confess. But not _that_ old yet. You know you have so much more to live for, and at the same time you feel as though you are losing so much." Tweek knows he's growing too old too fast. But he doesn't want to. He doesn't want it all to end. (Implied CrEek. Angst-filled.)

**Disclaimers: **_South Park_ was made by Trey and Matt and is owned by Comedy Central. All the copyrights associated with _South Park_ belong to Them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. No profit is being earned by the writer of this story.

**Author's Notes: **Full of angst. It's that time of the month. I'm sorry.

Also, I felt ashamed of the epic failure of my story '_You Can Never Get It_', so I wrote this to make up for it. I hope it's better. :D And please don't question the title.

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Once upon a time, no one really thought about growing up. Only games, school, friends and what cool new thing is up on the shelves of a toy or candy store invaded your little Fourth Grade minds. Of course being so young you didn't have the wit to think about the future and the changes that would take place as you grow older. Although you admit that the thought occurred to you. Once. But then you realize that it didn't count because the fatass had played with your minds until it falsely dawned on you that there was no other place and time like Third Grade. It wasn't all that after all, you decided after failed attempts to travel back in time. And now, looking back, you realize that Cartman did prove a point. Childhood is something that everyone goes through then loses in a blink of an eye, and permanently you may add. Then for a brief moment, you bask in the glory of adulthood (You've always thought that being old meant freedom) until all the problems of the world are handed to you in a Ming soup bowl and you can't take it because you've gotten too full to be given any more. And you drop to your knees and beg Father Time to flip his clock and take you back to when you were 9 and playing _Space Crash_ with your friends. But you know He knows you know He can't do that, because that would be cheating. And you know He knows you know that cheating is wrong.

But you can't help but wonder how it has come to this. Yes, you're doing just fine with your life. You have nothing to complain about. Except your fear of not living your life the way you _want_ it to be.

It's…odd. (You've taken so much time to decide on the right word to describe it.) But then again, it might not be. Thinking all these strange thoughts as you wake up by the pitter-patter of the rain on your 19th birthday is very forgivable. You're getting too old, you confess. But not _that_ old yet. You know you have so much more to live for, and at the same time you feel as though you are losing so much. You roll on over to your side and stare at the man sleeping soundly next to you, the rhythm of his breathing seemingly sounding louder than the drizzle outside your window. It calms you down, hearing his on-the-down-beat inhale/exhale. Sometimes, you would lie awake and just listen to the cadence, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against your head. In fact, the only time you would stop staring would be when you feel your heart give a big thump causing you to shudder. A warning sign that you need your morning cup of coffee.

And so you sit up, careful not to wake your friend from slumber, and stretch your arms to the ceiling once your feet touch the carpeted flooring. You head to the kitchen of your apartment and start brewing your coffee (Instant is bitch, you tell yourself). You get your favorite mug (Something you and Craig painted together at a ceramic store) and drop in brown sugar and creamer. You place it next to the coffee pot and go off to wash your hands. And it almost made you chuckle when you start singing '_Happy Birthday_' twice as you wash your hands thoroughly. Swine Flu is something that scares you a lot, just like the rest of the epidemics, and you are not going to catch it and die. No, not when you're just 19.

You wipe your hands with the conveniently placed toilet paper by the sink and scratch the back of your head. And somehow you think you're living inside someone you don't recognize when you suddenly catch your reflection on the mirror. And it's weird; you never notice how tall you've gotten, how skinnier you've gotten, how longer and messier your hair has gotten, how, dare you say it once more, _old_ you look. You then remember how you always needed a stool just so you could reach the sink. You also remember having your mom look after you in case you fall and break your skull. You don't worry about that anymore.

You breathe in for oxygen, picking up the scent of peppermint air freshener. You bought it yourself, and you're proud of making such a wise decision. He's proud of you too, yet you know deep inside how gay he thought it was. He's one to talk.

You check how your coffee's going and decide that it's ready to drink. Of course after you pour it in your mug. You position the hot cup near your face, touching the rim against your chapped lips. You inhale the caffeinated drink (and the scent of watermelon from the soap you used) and feel your body shudder in glee. Taking a sip, it momentarily scalds your throat and the long awaited rush of adrenaline is felt once again. Truth be told, your addiction to coffee will not wilt away that easily.

The sound of thunder awakens you from your thoughts and you glance at the sliding glass doors that lead to the balcony. The formerly staccato beats of the rain now turn into an orchestra of a million kettle drums. Wonderful, you sarcastically say, no birthday blowout today. Though you're sure that won't stop the others from coming to drop off their presents and celebrate. Remind yourself that you need to position your umbrella basket near the door later.

You walk to the Lounge room and take your seat on the couch. You don't usually watch television anymore, but when you do, you only manage one decent show before turning it off and do something else. You suddenly come upon another childhood memory long forgotten since Middle School. The _Terrence and Phillip_ Show. You can recall the days when you would be dangling your small legs at the edge of the couch as you giggle at the toilet humor. And you cringe when you remember that time when every boy in South Park, kids and adults alike, made such a big deal out of the unexpected replacement of the two Canadian men with two Canadian women who likewise possess toilet humor in their little queefing show. It was _immature_ and _stupid_.

They only show reruns now. Like everyone else, Terrence and Phillip grew up and gave up on their farting gimmick. Kids of 7 and 8 still love them when they chance upon their reruns, but they'll soon grow tired of it just like you.

You sigh and turn the TV off, throwing your head back to listen closely to the sound of the rain. You've heard from somewhere once that the world is already done for. Yet man continue to make toxic gases, causing the earth to grow hotter and hotter. And someday, the oceans will overflow and drown everyone. That moment is closer than you think.

You open your eyes and feel a tear roll down your face because you realize that you don't _want_ to grow older anymore. You just want to stay this way forever. Young and happy and safe. It's all happening too fast. Finishing the remaining coffee in your cup, you leave it on the table and head back to your bedroom to check on him. To check on him, you repeat, and not because you're in dire need to be in his arms. But, no. You're just lying to yourself.

You're _scared_ and _depressed _and so far, it isn't that much of a happy birthday to you. You slowly open the door wide enough to slip yourself through and tiptoe towards him. You sit on the edge of the bed and stare at his face once more. You're surprised to find your hand shaking his leg, but when you withdraw, his eyes flutter open. He groans and brings his hand near his eyes with much effort to check the time on his watch. He winces and drops his hand on his chest to glare at you for waking him up so early, then rolls to lie on his stomach and bury his face on the pillow. You know he doesn't mean to, but Craig is definitely not a morning person. You bite your lip and hold back the tears in your eyes. You're not certain if he would fall back to sleep, but as of the moment he's trying to. Taking action before he does, you trace letters on his back through the fabric of his shirt.

_We're growing old too fast._

You bring your hands to your face and cry. He sits up, confused, and encircles his arms around you tightly and comfortingly. He shushes you and tells you to stop, but you can't. And you see yourself as naïve and a baby. But you understand. And you know that he understands.

You're growing old too fast.

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**I've been bottling it up inside me for too long. :| Read and review please.**


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